Bananas

At first I thought it was just my host family, but after careful observation I think I can safely generalize that Georgians, as a rule, peels their bananas from the other end.

Speaking of things that are kind of bananas, when we were driving home the other day, Larisa went to a market up the street (which is crap and had none of what we wanted) instead of our normal corner market because she was wearing tennis shoes. Not even junky old sneakers like we Americans tend to wear, but cute little ones that look like flats (that are much cuter than the ones I am currently wearing, ahem, at the office--although mine look pretty good today because Larisa washed them).

This made me realize that when we stop at the store normally and she tells me I can stay in the car, what she is really saying is: please stay in the car so the ladies in the market don't gossip about me/my crazy American houseguest for the rest of the week.

Even though I now understand this, I will continue to go inside with her so I can bumble around like a nut, gawking at everything and making her read the labels to me. (As a bonus, this morning I found package of soy pieces!)

I hate causing anxiety to someone I like so much, but maybe I can help her get over the gossip thing, because I think worrying about what the ladies selling frozen fish are saying about your footwear (or your crazy American houseguest) is truly bananas.